


As Pretty As...

by AsheTarasovich (natalieashe), natalieashe



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Christmas, Drinking, Flirting, Gen, Hangover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2859980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/AsheTarasovich, https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/natalieashe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt:</p>
<p>Q gets absolutely and horrendously sloshed on spiked eggnog (courtesy of Eve) and he proceeds to tell Bond exactly how beautiful his blue blue eyes look in the Christmas lights<br/>That in and of itself was already adorable, but nobody could have predicted the blush that appeared on the face of the infamous 007 at those words (later Bond would blame the drink. Eve calls bullshit. Q meanwhile, is too busy cursing his existence and most of all his hangover)</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Pretty As...

There were reasons Q avoided the annual Christmas bash, and the two worst were currently groping one another on the dance floor.  Eve looked stunning in a deep red backless dress and Bond looked… Q swallowed hard. Words like ‘edible’ and ‘lickable’ floated tantalisingly in his mind. 

Q scowled as Bond’s hand slipped down to Eve’s arse yet again, and gritted his teeth when she giggled flirtatiously.  Eve was playing the agent, and Bond knew it, but this circling game had been going on for months, much to Q’s irritation.  Not that he was jealous or anything. No, not at all, but if Eve didn’t hurry up and seduce him Q was contemplating taking up position on Bond’s tiny desk, stark naked and covered in whipped cream. Q acknowledged he may be slightly pissed.

He helped himself to a refill of eggnog, wincing at the distinct alcoholic bite beneath the creaminess.  He wasn’t a big drinker, but anything to help him endure the endless round of jingle-bell enhanced dross the DJ was playing.  The elegant black-tie part of the evening had been short-lived, descending into raucous jollity as Christmas parties tended to do.  God he hated it, but Eve had guilt-tripped him into it, his sole purpose being to ensure she got home safely, preferably still wearing underwear.  Unless the one to remove it was Bond. Somehow in their drunken plan for Eve to woo in Q’s name, Eve still got laid.

He drank another cup of the vile gloop as fortification for the upcoming conversation where he flirted wittily and Eve subtly withdrew. As the couple approached Q smiled his most alluring smile and Eve looked worried.

“Q love, how much of that have you had…?” 

She nudged the second empty brandy bottle further under the edge of the tablecloth with a Jimmy Choo-shod toe, grinning all the while at the swaying Quartermaster. Oh this was going to be party-gold.

“Q…”  Bond’s voice was a smooth as the sickly sweet concoction Q had been gulping all night.  Q thought if he could kiss his name off Bond’s lips it would taste like spiced apple, warm with cinnamon. Bond was staring at him, eyes crinkled with amusement and his lips… Oh god, that lower lip. Q leaned forward intent on tasting…

Eve wrapped herself around Q’s waist and kissed his cheek, whispering in his ear. “Easy pussy cat, ol’ blue eyes likes a bit of class not a drooling horny teenager.”  She gently pushed him in Bond’s direction. 

Q, being Q – in other words uncoordinated, clumsy, and having no head for drink – stumbled and pitched into Bond’s arms. Bond, being Bond – effortlessly suave and still impossibly sober- allowed him to sag against his chest like a swooning girl. God he smelt good. Q nuzzled into Bond’s neck, burying his nose behind the startled man’s ear, lips moving over Bond’s warm skin.

“Fly me to the moon… let me play among the stars…”

Bond chuckled. “Are you singing to me Quartermaster?”

“You have eyes,” Q murmured.

Bond hummed, smirking at Eve over Q’s shoulder. Eve groaned.  Q would kill her for this if she didn’t die laughing first.  “Two of them,” he agreed.

Q stopped swaying and leaned away far enough that he could grip Bond’s jaw in one long-fingered hand, angling his head awkwardly towards the flickering Christmas lights. “So pretty,” he breathed. “Bluer than…” He waved his free hand as though he could pluck a relevant description from thin air.

“A Smurf?” Eve supplied wickedly.  Bond looked confused and Eve had to lean heavily on the table in a state of hysterical collapse when Q stared intently into Bond’s face.

“Oh yes,” Q sighed happily. “As blue as that. Like Frank, only more beautiful. I think I would like to swim naked in the pools of your eyes Mr Bond.”

Eve could possibly pee herself if she didn’t get herself under control. Tanner and M had wandered over to see what had Moneypenny in such a state and we're now staring open mouthed at their normally reserved Quartermaster who was alternately crooning Sinatra and muttering about the beauty of Bond’s Smurf-like eyes. 

“I think perhaps you should escort the Quartermaster home, 007.” Bond’s superior smirked. “He appears rather attached.”

Tanner was giggling with Eve, the pair clutching each other's arms as they watched the double 0 agent try to disentangle himself from Q’s chaotic limbs. “I didn’t think it was possible to make a trained killer blush.” Tanner snorted.

“Pinker than a…”

“Do not finish that sentence if you value your life.” Bond growled, finally succeeding in manoeuvring Q under one arm so they could start staggering to the exit.

* * *

Q woke and immediately wished he hadn’t.  He cracked open one eye, blinded by the light and tried to bury himself under the crisp cotton sheets.  His eyes flew open a second later when he realised he did not own such sheets.  There was a hissed whispered argument going on over his head and he decided now would be a good time to die.

“Roses.  Pigs.”  Eve spat.

“Pigs are tenuous.”  Bond griped back.

“Fine!  Ballet shoes, tutus.  Fuck, rosier than my lipstick Bond.  You were glowing like a teenage girl on her first date.”

“Fuck off, Eve.  Alcoholic flush.  It was hot in there.”

“Oh yes, it was hot alright.  Finally getting him up close, having his skinny little body clinging to you like a limpet.  The taxi driver almost drove us off the road.  If you ever do that to me again…”

There was the sound of a slap and an oof of pain.  “Ouch Eve.  Seriously?  You’re beating me up because you got the Quartermaster so drunk he grew extra groping arms.”

“No, I’m beating you up because you refuse to acknowledge that you blushed like a virgin seeing her first cock simply because he complimented you on your pretty eyes.  Strawberry pink, bubblegum pink, as pink as the dreadful Turkish Delight Tanner insists on buying me every Christmas.”

“I did not blush.”

“Oh you so did.  And you do have very pretty eyes, even red-rimmed with lack of sleep and a hangover.”

Bond turned a delicate shade of pink. 

“Just like that,” Eve giggled.

Q popped from under the sheets like a meerkat and instantly regretted it when his head threatened to explode.

“Please,” be begged.  “Just don’t.”

They both looked down at the touseled ill-looking man between them.

“Green,” they both said simultaneously.


End file.
